


Hilt Slang

by ARoadInCapeCod



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Canon, Deleted Scenes, Episode: s07e17 All Things, F/M, Ficlet, MSR, Male-Female Friendship, Missing Scene, Not Canon Compliant, Poetry, Post-Episode: s07e17 All Things, Pre-X-Files Revival, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Tension, Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 19:39:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5346161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ARoadInCapeCod/pseuds/ARoadInCapeCod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing scene from the episode all things. An interpretation of the events occurring at the end of the episode and what lead into the flash-forward at the beginning of the episode. This work is heavy on symbolism, similes, metaphors and is probably more poetic than anything. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hilt Slang

She awoke to the steady beat of her watch. Time was always keeping.

Disoriented, her first thought was of Daniel. Was she in the hospital room beside his bed? Or outside awaiting news in a chair?

No. This couch was far too comfortable and the hum of the fish tank reminded her those events had unfolded hours before. Silently, she remembered Daniel was dead. While unhappiness flooded her, she was free from the the heaviness of his disappointment in her and of her decisions; but not of their past together.

It was all over now - she could move on. She wondered if that’s what had been holding her back, all these years.

No.

It was all a set of choices and quite possibly, fate. Would she, could she bring faith into this?

She removed the tan blanket, stitched thick of wool, the warmth left her body in a instant. She turned her head and surveyed the archway to her left, a heavy sigh left her mouth.

She stood, shedding her blazer, and left the garment to rest on the arm of the couch.

Quietly, Scully tiptoed into Mulder’s bedroom.

In the darkness, she could not notice how soundly he slept, on his back. All she heard was a delicate wheeze from his mouth with every exhale. She crept slowly inward on her socks thankful she was quiet because she did not want to wake him on foot.

She sat on the edge of his bed, his rib-cage near her hip, and placed a hand on the blankets that covered him.

Mulder stirred and opened his eyes. As he gained consciousness, out of his sleepy daze, he sat up at once. His hand reflected to hers and covered it. “Scully...” he whispered, “...what’s the matter?”

She looked down at their hands, his large palm a comfort atop her small fingers. She shook her head from side to side, “Nothing, Mulder. I’m fine.”

They stayed that way for a long time. Outwardly, it was a silence they both listened to.

In their bodies, however, everything suffered. As if all suffering was physical, the simple hand gesture made so much more. In seven years, they were no longer strangers. They were not strangers because they no longer knew nothing of each other. They were no longer two souls who cared for nothing less about the other. Together, they had vomited violent pains in each other’s company.

She breathed heavily, blood running like a horse, “Mul-,”

Almost at once a furious need escaped their lungs, a warmth tugged at each other for the feel of molded limbs.

His mouth found hers.

He wasted little time, for fear this was fleeting or even a dream, and reached found the hem of her green blouse, tugging it upward, over her red-orange hair.

It was dark, he couldn’t see her fully, the way he wanted; however, a small glimpse of moonlight pooled around his pillows, a welcome distraction to the darkness of their bodies.

Scully stood, momentarily, to unclasp her trousers and slide out of her socks. His hands helped, tugging the fabric off her thighs until dark cotton pooled at her feet.

Mulder shuffled slightly out of his bed-sheets, grabbed her near her hip and pulled her gently inward, toward him.

She followed and settled perfectly between his thighs. She felt him fall backward and caught a glimpse of his hair, in the moonlight, slumping against a loose pillow. She cradled her head in the curve of his neck, kissing the warm skin the lived there; her hands kneaded in the soft thickets of his rich, dark hair; her always delicate, clear, long nails scraped his scalp.

Mulder pulled her face to him and his tongue found her mouth this time. His hands remained busy as his fingers unclasped the delicate fabric of a bra and removed underwear.

Her hands searched for his boxers and pulled them down and off at his ankles. The garment left the bed as she threw it into the abyss of his bedroom.

Scully searched his chest: the live, insatiable dance of his nipples in her mouth caused him to utter a sweet groan of pleasure that rose deep within his throat.

His touch turned firm on her skin and searched, protectively, along her breasts, down her belly to the inside of her thighs. With her heavy breath at his chest, his strong fingers reached where she had been yearning in years for him.

She settled above him, with his hands pressed firmly on her hips, and at once he was inside her. She gasped in pleasure, the sound erupted from her lips before they once again crashed on the corners of his mouth.

He let her set the slow rhythm and soon fell in sync. She moved around him in circles, indulging in whatever felt best.

Together, it would seem, they both knew - that whatever happened between them now, whatever happened with them in the future, their bodies would forever haunt one another’s in this tender, delicate, dance cursed by love-making, like a half-curled fox in the fertile, dew-dropped, spring grass.

Soon, their bodies yearned for confirmation. Sweat formed, like a sheen of satin, and fell from her brow to his. The delicate flush of need in both their bodies ever so evident as they panted in sync, white-hot. Poised with charge and passion, Scully clawed his chest as her yearning for him rose. She rode him steadily, slowly, not wanting to lose him; Mulder’s fingers clawed at her hips; in that moment, together, all their pores opened with blistering joy. Their mouths opened, together nearby, and released intense moans of pleasure side-by-side.

The room silent, except for heavy, tender breathing.

“Scully,” he said.

She regained composure and release him from her depths. She lay by his side, her arm draped over his chest, her legs tangled with his.

Together, in bed, stung by passion.

She prayed not for the sunrise. He prayed not for sunrise.

Together, in a small pool of moonlight, their limbs exhausted by their labor, hot in a near-fatal stillness.

Together, on fire.


End file.
